Pretender
by Dr. Fluffmuffin
Summary: Jay struggles with a problem Cole can't see. He does his best to help.
1. Chapter 1

**Season six didn't have a lot of closure. I do not own Ninjago.**

* * *

Jay asks a lot of questions. It's in his nature, being the unfortunate combination of inquisitive and talkative. He usually asks his questions to Cole, because Cole is the only one with the patience to answer every time.

They're not always correct answers, but they're answers nonetheless, and that seems to satisfy Jay.

"Why are plants green?" he asks one day, when they're picnicking in a backwoods grove of a neighboring farm.

"Something to do with cells," says Cole, eyeing the walnut trees and taking a bite of his sandwich. That's the extent he knows about it, so he says nothing more.

"But plants are supposed to absorb light," says Jay, staring at the clover and crabgrass like every blade is full of secrets, "Why reflect green light? Why not absorb all the colors?"

Cole tries to wrap his head around it, chewing slowly before saying, "Well, everyone has a color they don't like."

Jay laughs as he leans backwards, staring up at the canopy. "If I were a plant," he says, "I'd be black. Then I can absorb all the light."

"If you say so, bluebell."

Jay thinks of things most people wouldn't think about, and while some might find such a trait annoying, it's one of the things Cole likes most about his friend. That's not to say these interactions always make for pleasant experiences. Now and again, Jay asks a question Cole isn't comfortable answering, or Cole gives an answer that leaves Jay hurt or wondering.

Those interactions are the sorts Cole strives to avoid, for he hates the idea of failing his friend, however minor the mishap is.

The autumn winds blow chilly and cold on a sunny afternoon in Ninjago City, and Cole and Jay walk the streets home after a day out on the town. Their conversation is hardly more than their company, since Jay hasn't been asking many questions lately. Instead, he keeps his head down and his hands tucked away in his pockets, thinking.

He has a look on his face like he's about to ask a question, but for whatever reason, he doesn't voice it. It's a concerning but not unusual look that Cole has grown accustomed to, for Jay has looked like this for several months now. Quiet and distant, something occupies his thoughts, dampening an otherwise bright personality to the point where Jay is almost a shadow of his former self. Cole doesn't know what to do about it other than be a willing ear to listen to his troubles.

It's an odd and sudden change in Jay's behavior, seemingly an overnight event. One morning Jay was well, and the next, something changed. He jumps when someone lays a hand on his shoulder, jerking like he's always caught in the middle of a thought; he spends long nights speaking to Nya with quiet words. Cole observes all these things, for he's the somewhat unfortunate privilege of knowing Jay as well as himself, and there seems something about Jay that he doesn't feel like sharing. All Cole can do is wait until Jay is ready to talk to him, for Jay always talks to him eventually.

When that occurs is up to Jay. Cole doesn't knock on doors people aren't ready to open.

But Jay surprises him one day, and it doesn't go well.

When they reach the park, Jay stops under the low hanging branches of a blue oak curling over the fence. Cole does, too, eyebrows up as he looks to his friend in question.

Jay eyes the cracks of the sidewalk, staring a long time before finally meeting his gaze. He asks, "What's your dad like?"

All Cole's thoughts halt in surprise, and Jay already looks like he regrets the question. He drops his gaze to his shoes, curls swinging forward to hide his face.

But Cole answers, because he's that kind of friend. It's not the correct one. "You've met him."

"I know," says Jay, hands fiddling even in his pockets, "but…what—what was he like as a dad?"

Cole is as confused as he is uncomfortable where this conversation is going. His and Lou's relationship is a complicated one that he doesn't like getting into, even with himself.

"Well…" he says, trying to find a place to start. He can't come up with anything, which is worrying itself. Cole prides himself in his ability to answer Jay's questions, but he wonders where such a question is coming from, why Jay would pick a scab like this.

But Jay seems to be picking a scab of his own, for he's looking at Cole with eyes desperate for an answer.

Cole has none, so he asks, "Why do you want to know?"

Jay frowns. Shrugs. "I don't know," he says, "I'm curious. He's a star, right?"

Cole nods. Lou is a gifted songwriter and a talented musician; he's charmed an entire generation of listeners (mostly middle-aged, now) with his catchy tunes and quaint love songs. As a father, though…

"He does about as well as he can," mutters Cole, toeing a path on the sidewalk, "He's…he—" it's hard to talk. Odd. He's having trouble finding his words.

Jay is still looking at him, like whatever Cole is about to say will change his world. Cole doesn't know what his friend is expecting.

"Where's this coming from?" he eventually asks, for lack of anything else to say.

Jay glances away, lips pursed and nervous like he is when he's hiding something. "Like I said, just curious. My parents…they're so different. It must be something to have a famous dad."

That pricks something under Cole's skin, like pencil or thumbtack digging into his skin. He's sure it's not supposed to, but it does, and it hurts.

"It's not that great."

"Really?" Jay says.

"Lou wasn't—" Cole pauses, breathing slow to keep himself calm. He is and has been aware that he is lucky in a lot of ways. He's not Lloyd; he's not Kai, but, "He took care of me. But it seemed like he didn't care about me all the time."

Jay steps back in shock. "He's your father!"

"Jay," Cole sighs, staring up at the sky. Pigeons pass between grey buildings, glowing orange under the sun. "My dad isn't like your parents."

At this, Jay's jaw gets tight. It ruffles his face into a pout before it relaxes again, gone before Cole has time to think about it.

"Your parents are…there for you," Cole talks, though it's hard to explain something like this, especially to Jay, who's always had parents in his life. He wonders why Jay even wants to know.

"My dad had another life outside of being a parent," continues Cole, blabbering on even as Jay looks away, "He had—has a public to please. That got in the way of our life."

A lot, towards the end.

Lou used to write love songs in his day. Pretty tunes that captured the happiness he felt in his heart. After _she_ died, he stopped, and that was when Cole lost his father. Their relationship, Cole thinks and thought, was something that could've healed itself, but neither father nor son had the knowledge to try.

"I figured it'd be nice to have someone famous as a parent," Jay's loud voice interrupts his thoughts. His gaze is stretched far past the horizon as he starts walking again, talking like he hasn't heard a thing Cole just said. "Maybe a movie star."

The last sentence is quiet, and Jay's eyes are sad.

Cole doesn't notice. "Oh really?" he says, irritated without meaning to be, "What's wrong with your own parents?"

"Nothing," says Jay, offended Cole would ask such a thing, "I'm just thinking. What kind of life would I have led if—"

He cuts himself off, which is a good thing, since Cole is getting angrier the longer Jay talks.

"Don't think being a famous person's kid is all grandeur," Cole says, walking faster to match Jay's pace. Though he's picking at a wound that's never quite healed, he must get Jay to understand, "There's a lot more to it than what is presented to the public eye."

There are long fights that he can't win, waking up in the morning to an empty house, his father already out with no word on when he'll return. There are lonely nights cooking dinner alone, climbing mountains for a sense of purpose long since lost, crying quietly at night because a love he needs just isn't there.

These are the reasons Cole doesn't talk about this. It's a mess that makes him angry just thinking about it. He huffs in disdain and reminds himself he's lucky to have a parent at all, painful as it may be.

He's better not thinking about this.

Jay's mouth has turned down sadly; Cole doesn't know why. He's looked that way for the past few months, and Cole has given him the wrong answers.

The otherwise decent afternoon has soured, and Cole wants out of it, if just to start again tomorrow. Then he can satisfy Jay's questions.

"Hey," Cole says, "Last one to the Bounty cleans the bunks for a week."

He races from the spot before Jay can answer, desperate to leave the nasty conversation where it stands. If he runs fast enough, he can leave the bad feelings behind, and he hopes Jay will do the same.

Jay has been strange in the passing months, and the autumn winds blow cold.


	2. Chapter 2

On a dark night with only a half-moon's light to guide his way, Cole slams his knee into the counter, having misjudged where the corner began completely. The kitchen is black, and he swears without meaning to, clutching the abused joint in pain.

He's not used to being human again, and he's a fine collection of bruises on all areas of his body to prove it. He's thankful for them, in a sick way, just as reminders that he can feel again, but he only appreciates them after the fact. For now, he shakes away the pain and lumbers to the fridge for a slice of cheese.

Jay sits on the counter next to it when Cole opens the door.

"What the—" Cole leaps backwards and knocks a chair over in clumsy surprise.

"Sorry!" says Jay, hopping off the counter, "I didn't anticipate company."

"You could've said something—!"

"I thought you saw me, honest!"

"Baloney!" another consequence of being human again—Cole's night vision is nonexistent. Presently, he puts a hand to his beating heart and steadies his balance. Turning on a light would've been smart, he supposes.

Jay reaches to lift the chair and put it back in its original position. He's a carton of milk in hand that nearly spills as he dips down; he's been drinking straight out of it.

Cole cringes. "What're you doing up?"

"Same as you."

"Cheese?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Oh," Cole could've guessed that. The shadows under Jay's eyes are ghoulish in the dark. "What's bothering you?"

Jay shrugs, sipping at his milk and staring at the wall with empty eyes. "A lot on my mind, I guess. You know how it is when you can't turn your thoughts off? And you keep thinking and thinking and can't concentrate on going to sleep?"

"I guess," says Cole, "Been like that for a few nights then, huh?"

Jay nods.

"I'm sorry."

A shrug. _It is what it is,_ it says. A second passes, and Jay says, "I'm sorry too, by the way, about the other day. I know you don't like talking about Lou."

Cole inhales, says, "Don't worry about it." He's more concerned with why Jay is acting in such a way to ask those questions in the first place.

For a moment, Cole just eyes Jay in the dark, the conversation taken over by the hum of the refrigerator and other appliances. Jay continues staring at the wall. Cole can practically hear the gears in his head turning, spinning and whirring as fast as his thoughts. They are unreadable and troubling, if the sadness in Jay's eyes is any indication. Cole worries for him.

"Are you alright?" Cole finally asks.

"I am," says Jay, "I guess. Mostly. Just a lot on my mind, like I said," he pauses, then flashes a brief smile, "Thanks for asking."

"Of course," though relieved to see the expression, Cole is confused at its appearance in such a somber state. Jay is all over the place, pendulum swinging between this and a mood that can only be described as distracted.

Cole hasn't seen Jay smile lately. He turns to the fridge to retrieve his cheese, a frown worrying his brow. Jay just sits at the table, legs swinging and still sipping straight from the milk carton.

"Hey Cole?" he says.

"Yeah?" Cole replies, digging past condiments and foods that really should be thrown out.

"Do my parents seem old to you?"

Cole stops halfway to the cheddar. Jay is always one to ask weird questions, but they are normal for he and Jay. These questions are odd even for them, and they're worrisome in a subtle way, like a pin in the hip. "They do, but we're kids. All parents seem old."

He retrieves his cheese and spares Jay a curious glance as he looks for a knife on the counter. Jay keeps swinging his legs, thinking. He looks no odder than he usually does, but Cole doesn't quite relax as he starts slicing away.

"Yeah," Jay continues, "but—_my _parents. They're older than most parents, wouldn't you say?"

Cole stares at him. "I guess."

He's never given much thought to it one way or another. Yes, Ed and Edna seem older than the rest of their parents, Lloyd's excluded, but not by much. He certainly isn't one to judge.

Jay finally looks at him, eyes sharp and pointed. He says, "Why do you think that is?"

This is toeing a line towards uncomfortable, and though the question itself is subjective, Jay asks it like there is a right and wrong answer. The pressure almost has Cole sweating, but he is the only friend who's the patience to answer all Jay's questions.

"They didn't have you until later in life," says Cole, giving the first answer that comes to mind. It's the wrong one, because Jay isn't satisfied.

"What if they didn't _have _me?" asks Jay, the question coming out like a statement.

Cole goes still. "You mean they adopted you?"

Jay shrugs. "Possibly."

This revelation simultaneously answers the questions floating through Cole's head while creating new ones to confound him. "You think they adopted you."

"They don't really look like me, do they?" says Jay. He's not asking this, but Cole still mulls the question like he can answer it.

And to be honest, Cole doesn't know if he has one. He's never questioned that Ed and Edna were Jay's parents. Sure, they're a little older, and yes, there are tiny things that make Jay stand out in appearances, but all the same, they act so similar and love so hard that Cole knows they're Jay's parents.

But that leaves the big question that's been haunting Cole since Jay asked about Lou. Why is Jay on such a train of thought?

"Did something happen to make you think this?" Cole asks. He figures as much. Maybe Jay visited his parents one day and learned something he didn't like. Maybe, though unlikely, his relationship with them has fallen by the wayside, and he's looking for a way out.

Or, maybe, he's asking questions he's wondered about for a long time.

Jay has been strange for the past few months.

Jay picks his teeth with a fingernail, then, refusing to look him in the eye, mutters, "Something bad happened, Cole."

Cole's heart stops beating.

Bad?

Something bad?

The words run themselves on repeat through Cole's thoughts, because he can't seem to process them. _Something bad happened._ Jay states it matter of factly, like it's common knowledge. Is this why Jay has been acting this way? More importantly, what was it, and how could Cole be so careless as to miss it?

His insides are curdling, shrinking in on themselves, and he realizes that his lack of response might not be the best thing for Jay to hear. He tries forming words, doesn't get far. "When?"

"About a month before Day of the Departed."

Cole's mind scrambles for a memory, a horrible event that could've done this to Jay, and comes up empty. He sets down the knife, defeated like he's never felt before.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What for?" says Jay, "It wasn't your fault."

"But—" Cole runs every interaction he's had with Jay since the day he changed, trying to find a sign or clue that can explain this.

"Cole," Jay walks over and puts a hand on his arm, smiling, "Don't worry; you've done nothing wrong."

Cole is incredulous, but Jay moves on before he can think any more on it.

"Besides," says Jay, "I've put it all behind me. Except for this," the frown returns, and Jay glances away, "I am—" his eyes go wide, "I _think_ I'm adopted, and I don't know if I should ask my parents about it or not."

The words still won't register, and Cole feels like a snail trying to connect the dots. It answers some questions, indeed, but he's still hung up on _something bad._

Something bad happened to Jay. And he doesn't want to tell Cole about it. That stings.

He swallows. "Well," he says, trying to think of something to help Jay now, since he apparently didn't want it before, "I guess that depends on how comfortable you are asking that question."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're really sure about being adopted," Cole says, thinking hard, "and you're comfortable enough in that they love you…"

Jay stares him down, hanging on to every word.

"You should be able to ask them," says Cole, "Good parents answer heavy questions like that, and good parents will be honest with you."

"But," says Jay, "I don't want to hurt them. I don't want to wait around for them to tell me either, but part of me wonders if they plan to tell me at all."

Jay sounds so sure of his adoption that Cole is starting to get worried. Well, more worried.

"If it's bothering you this much…" Cole tries. He's not sure where to go from here. This is entirely new territory, and in a domain that doesn't take kindly to wrong answers.

He thinks for a while, and Jay waits patiently. Cole scours his mind for anything that can help, anything at all. He doesn't find an answer, but he finds something else. A question.

"Jay?"

His friend glances up. "Hm?"

"Are you comfortable waiting for an answer to a question you've never asked?"

Jay frowns. "No, but this is different."

"How?"

"Because—" Jay's mouth works; he draws it into a line, "I'm so sure about this."

"Alright," says Cole, "but you're expecting your parents to know that."

"They should know," Jay says, quietly.

"Perhaps, but they don't know that you know. They don't know it's bothering you. If you want them to know, you'll have to ask. They're good people; they'll answer your question."

"What if I hurt their feelings?"

Cole shakes his head, grimacing. "Sometimes that happens. It's a big question. Big questions have big answers, and they're not always easy," Cole says. This is a territory he knows, certainly.

Jay is quiet.

"If it helps," says Cole, hoping it will, "I think you'll be better off asking."

Jay's eyes are on the floor, then, silently, he nods. Cole heaves a soft sigh of relief.

"Yeah," says Jay, "but," he looks up, earnest, "will you come with me?"

Cole pauses and thinks about his answer.

* * *

**I've only seen season six once, and going back over the episodes for the details in this fic, I realized that the circumstances of Jay's adoption were slightly different than what I wrote in this story. What I've written for the remaining chapters doesn't necessarily contradict canon, but it is different, just so you're aware.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Ed and Edna's trailer always was a comfortable place. That's about all Cole can say about it, because otherwise, it isn't much to look at. Decorated with twinkle lights, colored glass, and long stains of rust, it is the people inside that make the trailer a welcoming, warm home.

Of course, one wouldn't know that from the atmosphere tonight.

It's not that Ed and Edna are any less friendly. It's the knowledge of what Jay is going to do. Currently, Jay is having what's no doubt a tense dinner, as he plans to ask the big question by the end of it.

Cole is outside, freezing his butt against the pile of tires he hides behind. He agreed to go, but not to join Jay for a conversation like that. Those sorts of questions are for family members only, and the best Cole can do presently is be a waiting shoulder outside afterwards.

Unfortunately, this means a long night in the cold, anxiously waiting with no hope of receiving answers until Jay reappears again. Knowing him (and his parents), this can and will take hours.

There's a car Cole can sit in to avoid some of the cold, but he's intent on saving gas and remaining hidden. For now, he's too anxious to stand waiting in the car. He peers at Ed and Edna's trailer through a pair of pseudo-binoculars he's fashioned from two empty toilet paper rolls. Aside from the occasional shadow passing over the yellowed shades, he hasn't seen much.

It's going to be a long night indeed.

Cole doesn't know how to spend it other than mulling over his situation with Jay.

Cole prides himself in being Jay's best friend, and it bothers him that he apparently failed so hard at this title that _something bad_ can happen and Jay won't tell him about it. And worse, that Cole didn't know about it.

It's a hurtful thought, and Cole's been thinking about it since that late-night talk.

Jay has been there in some of Cole's worst moments, yet _something bad _happened, and the most Jay shares are leading questions. Leading questions and bizarre behavior, behavior that Cole was well aware of.

Cole inhales as his thoughts start to spiral again. This has also been happening since the talk, where all he thinks about is how he should and could have done more for Jay. Then and now, he debates his purpose, and thinks perhaps he should be with Jay in the trailer after all.

Cole blinks and shakes his head. The night air stings the whites of his eyes, and they water as he closes them.

The most he can do is be here. Cole can do that.

He sighs, dropping his binoculars and leaning back so he's lying against the tires. They're more uncomfortable than he imagined, not that he'd ever thought they'd be anything else. His mind wanders away from him as the minutes tick by.

It wasn't hard to guess that _something bad_ and the long talks with Nya were related to each other, and when Cole confronted Nya about it, she responded the same way Jay had.

That is, giving flighty answers while changing the subject every chance she gets. Eventually, Cole asked her flat out what happened, and he received a pointed look, a mix of suspicious and nervous.

"Nothing happened," she said, shoving past him and making her escape.

_We don't talk about this,_ is the only message Cole could gather from it, and he might just be forced to leave it at that.

They won't tell, and Cole doesn't knock on doors people aren't ready to open. Sitting there in the cold, clueless as ever, he wonders if this principle is why Jay didn't tell him to begin with. Did he mistake Cole's distance for lack of care? Or did Cole not care enough to begin with?

He's spiraling again and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He checks his watch and swears it's stopped. Tapping it twice, he rises to stare at the trailer again. Nothing is changed, and all is quiet. Cole doesn't know what he expects. When he and Lou had big talks, they usually ended at a volume that had neighbors peering out their windows, and with Cole storming angrily out to the oak tree that grew at the end of their neighborhood.

He's not sure what Jay will do. What Jay has with Ed and Edna are remarkably different circumstances than what Cole has with his father, but the question of adoption is significant, to say the least. Cole honestly has no clue how this evening will end.

He just hopes Jay won't come out crying. Deep down, he hopes that he did the right thing in advising Jay to talk to his parents.

When nothing happens at the trailer, Cole lies back again and stares at the night sky, heaving a slow sigh. Though the night air chills him to his bones, the desert paints a beautiful array of stars, and Cole challenges himself to make up as many constellations as he can as he tries to relax.

There's nothing left to do but wait, so there's no sense in worrying.

Cole does anyway, because not worrying is hard to do for someone who is _really_ good at worrying.

He thinks he dozes off at some point. The next time he's entirely aware of his surroundings, an hour and a half has passed. He's freezing. He glances at his watch and scrambles up to look at the trailer again.

No change. Shadows no longer pass in front of the shades, but all that means is that they're sitting down. Cole listens, but no sound he can hear above the radiator makes its way to him. Teeth chattering, he rolls away and stumbles down to the car, hoping he isn't making a disturbance.

More than that, he hopes Jay is okay.

The car is small, and he has to squeeze to work himself inside. There, he turns over the engine and grabs for his phone. The combination of vicious anxiousness and mind-numbing boredom has left him desperate for some kind of distraction from the soup that's now his brain.

He dials for Kai, because Kai is the only one he knows who can lead a stupid conversation without getting boring. That, and Cole knows that he's probably chowing down on pretzels in his sweatpants, the only one not busy tonight.

True to Cole's presumption, Kai's voice is mixed with a disgusting crackle of crunching as he answers, "You idiot! I almost crapped myself."

"That's quite a way to greet your friends," says Cole, rubbing his hands and gazing out the window, "What's going on?"

"I'm watching horror movies in the dark."

"Unfortunate."

"Right?" Kai says, crunching away, "Any reason you're calling?"

"I'm at Jay's junkyard and got bored."

Well, bored is one word for it.

"What are you doing there?" asks Kai. A scream sounds from the background, and Kai unleashes an, "Ugh."

"I'm here for emotional support."

Another scream, and Kai inhales. Either that, or he shoves another handful of chips or pretzels in his mouth as he says, "Alright."

The gap in conversation lasts awhile, so Cole decides to fill the silence. "Have you noticed anything odd about Nya lately?"

He might be starting something nasty here, possibly exposing Jay and Nya's secret, but the ninja have never had secrets from each other before.

Or, they never had secrets for long.

"Everything about Nya is odd to me," says Kai, "but if you're talking about that mole on her cheek; I don't know where it came from either."

"No," says Cole, slowly, "I'm talking behavior. Does she seem different than she used to?"

More silence, then, "Yeah. Jay too, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Cole eyes the pile of tires, though he can't see the trailer beyond. "I don't know why."

"Me neither. I've tried asking," Kai sighs, "but Nya says that nothing's wrong. She doesn't want to talk to me," another pause, "What does Jay need emotional support for?"

Cole thinks about his answer. While he's certain that _something bad_ is a subject that needs to be talked about, he hardly thinks it's a good idea to take that decision away from Jay, or Nya, for that matter.

"He's…" says Cole, "about to ask his parents a really important question, and that's all I can say."

"Hm," Kai crunches.

"The bottom line is that he really needs a friend right now," Cole continues, growing quieter with each word as he remembers _something bad._ What reasons would Jay have for keeping secrets like that unless Cole isn't as good a friend as he thinks? Cole chews on his lip and lets Kai do the rest of the talking.

"Well, good on you, then. I guess I'll leave you to it," says Kai, "You're pretty good at that stuff."

Cole hums. "I'm not so sure I am."

"What?"

Cole doesn't want to reveal private conversations, but he does wonder. "I think—I think I messed up. Jay has always been able to talk to me, and now..."

"You haven't messed up," Kai scoffs, "if it's the same thing that's bugging Nya, then that's hardly your fault."

"But—" he's getting dangerously close to revealing _something bad_, but he doesn't know what to say.

Not that Kai lets him talk. He continues, "and if you are going to blame yourself, at least blame Zane, Lloyd, and I, too. We've also noticed it."

If that's the case, then how much of the blame is really Cole's? Does it matter? Jay tells him everything, and Cole didn't ask.

"Cole," Kai's voice interrupts his thoughts, "you're a great friend. You're always there for us, and you've always been there for Jay. He's smart. He knows that."

Cole is silent, and Kai waits a few more seconds before giving his goodbye, "Don't beat yourself up, okay? You're a good friend, and if you're unsure, just ask Jay."

With that, he ends the call, and there's beeping in Cole's ear. Lowering the device, Cole stares at the screen until it fades to black. Kai is right, Cole guesses, about one thing. He'll have to ask Jay.

As long as Jay is up for answering. He still isn't sure how this night will turn out, and he can only hope that Jay is well enough to answer. If not, Cole is a good shoulder to lean on.

It's the least he can do.

He falls asleep without meaning to, exhausted from his thoughts. The next time he wakes up, sunlight peeks from the horizon to the windshield, and Jay snoozes next to him in the passenger's seat.


	4. Chapter 4

Cole slams his head against the door with a flattering _thunk_ as he jerks in surprise.

The sound it makes shakes Jay awake. He opens his eyes and turns so hard his neck pops, and he's left groaning. "Ugh," he says, rubbing his eyes, "What the heck, Cole?"

"You're here!" says Cole, heart pounding as he looks his friend over. Jay looks no different than yesterday, save for extra wrinkles in his shirt and a stain of what looks like ketchup on the knee of his jeans. Cole isn't sure what he expected. Joy? Tears?

"Yeah," replies Jay, yawning, "Got back a few hours ago. My parents talk _forever._"

Cole is reeling. Jay looks fine. Completely fine.

Impossible.

"I wanted to go home right away," Jay continues, "but you were out like a light. I figured it'd be easier to wait here in the car. Solidarity, you know?" Jay rubs his neck and grins at him.

Cole blinks. Jay is grinning. Does that mean—

"It went well, then?" Cole blurts, freezing as he realizes it might be crass to make assumptions this early in the conversation. Jay has revealed nothing yet. "How was it?" he tries again, "Dinner?"

Jay fiddles with his seatbelt, not exactly the desired response, and Jay says, "Not good…at first."

Cole's heart stutters as a wave of apprehension and shame falls over his shoulders. "Oh?"

Jay shrugs, smiles. "Don't worry. It was one of those situations where I couldn't bring myself to ask the question. You know how it is when you want to say something, then lose yourself halfway through? Every time I worked up the courage, I couldn't get past opening my mouth. I kept thinking about how'd they react. I asked for second helpings three times 'cause I was too scared to do it."

That math doesn't check out on a surface level, but Cole keeps listening, on the edge of his seat.

"I couldn't enjoy myself in that kind of state," Jay says, shaking his head, "and by the time we got to dessert, I couldn't eat a bite. That's when Mom and Dad noticed. They asked me what was on my mind. I wanted to lie, but," Jay looks at him, "I remembered what you said."

That gives Cole chills, but not entirely the unfortunate kind. It's more like a middle ground that's equally nervous and hopeful. If Jay remembered Cole's advice, then whatever happened next would either be really good or phenomenally, _Cole's-going-to-put-his-head-in-a-vice-for-three-hours_, bad.

"And?" Cole says, hoping to goad Jay along.

"And I asked them if I was adopted," says Jay. He turns his eyes to the sunrise, a million miles away.

Cole can't believe it. That's…_brave_, and he has to admire Jay for it, beneath the apprehension.

"We had a long talk," says Jay, "It scared me. The way their faces changed, I felt like the worst son in the world," his mouth turns down, and Cole starts picking at his nails to spend some of his nervous energy.

"But, after that first question, we kept talking," says Jay, "They asked me lots of questions. I couldn't blame them, but it got hard to answer after a while. They wanted to know how I got to this conclusion, whether I felt loved, and all that. Difficult stuff. But we talked, and they eventually told me. They said they loved me, and I told them the same. It got better," Jay smiles again, "It was good. I'm glad I did this," he finally looks at Cole, laying a hand on his arm, "Thanks for being here for me, pal."

It's one of the most genuine, _no jokes attached_ sentences Jay has ever said to Cole, but he's too distracted to appreciate it.

"Hold on—" says Cole, and Jay raises his eyebrows, "Aren't you going to tell me? If you're—you know."

Jay laughs. "Just say 'adopted'; it's not taboo. And…yeah. Yeah, I am."

Cole sits back, stunned speechless. Jay nods, nonchalant. Unbelievably so.

"How?" says Cole, "How did you know?"

Jay's eyes widen a fraction, and he fiddles with the window now, rolling it up and down, up and down. "I guessed. From clues. You know; they don't have a quarter of the freckles between the two of them that I have on the back of my neck. I mean, I had to get my spots from someone, right?"

Perhaps, thinks Cole, but he knows Jay well enough to tell he's lying. Cole frowns, unable to take this anymore. "Does it have something to do with that bad thing you were talking about?"

Jay bristles, and his good mood wanes with it. "It might."

Cole's heart twists and turns around in his chest. "Do you want to tell me about that?"

"_No."_

The word is a stone in the air, and it hits Cole just as hard.

Jay shakes his head. "Don't ask, alright?"

His voice cuts like a knife. Cole faces the wheel.

This is a lot to handle ten minutes after waking up.

"Look," Jay is tapping his arm again, "it's not that I don't trust you, okay? It's just—it's a can of worms, and right now, I want it stayed shut."

"Okay," Cole murmurs, trying not to let his sadness show. He holds his hands against the wheel, feeling the cool biting against his skin. There's so much more he needs to say to Jay, but he's choking on the words.

"Jay," he says, scouring his memory once again, "If there's something…something I did—"

Jay's eyes go wide again. "No, you never—"

"Let me finish," says Cole, and Jay shuts his mouth, "I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry if I didn't notice before. I should have. I should have done more. I want to help you, and if you ever feel like talking, I'm here for you. I'll do everything I can."

Jay eyes him, and he smiles softly. "I know."

Cole blinks and looks up.

"I know you will. Look, you've done nothing wrong. You've always been there for me. That's why you're the best," Jay pats his shoulder, sentimental and unapologetic about it, "You've always been a great friend. Don't ever doubt it."

For a second, Jay's eyes appear misty, but with a blink and a grin, it's gone. "Anyway," he says, "Thanks for coming with me tonight—er—yesterday. It made me feel a lot better knowing you were out here."

That's also one of the nicest things Jay has ever said to him, and now Jay isn't the only one getting misty. Of course, Cole is too tough for that sort of thing.

He stares at the wheel while he gathers himself.

"Of course," he says, "I'll always be here for you."

Jay laughs. "I'm counting on it. Without you, I wouldn't have anyone to ask stupid questions."

"They're not stupid," says Cole, the knot in his stomach slowly unraveling, "but the team will kill you before you find a replacement."

"Yeah…" Jay says. A second passes, and his eyes light up. "Oh! Do you wanna see my birth parents?"

The question blindsides him completely, but Cole stutters out a yes while Jay digs through the pockets of his trousers. A second later, he pulls free an old, faded polaroid. He holds it over, and Cole leans forward in anticipation.

"Oh wow," he breathes.

Two people crowd the frame, but it's the smile that Cole recognizes first. It's Jay's smile, freckles and all, on a beautiful woman beaming proudly from her hospital bed, where she holds a red-faced infant. Next to her is a man with his arm around her shoulders. He's vaguely familiar to Cole, though he can't for the life of him place his face.

Not that it matters, because Jay points and explains, "That's me after I was born. Aren't I just the cutest baby you ever saw?"

Cole's lips purse in thought, an action that doesn't go unnoticed.

"C'mon, I'm cute!"

"Your head is shaped like a cone!"

Jay flips the picture back to him and looks it over one more time. "Oh yeah…" he murmurs, "Well, that's 'cause the bones in my head aren't fused yet. I was fourteen days late, so the doctors had to use a baby suction cup on my head to help speed things along. The cone went away in time."

Cole checks Jay's head just to make sure and detects nothing unusual. "How do you know that?"

"Mom was there," says Jay, "Well—my regular mom—Edna. She's the one who took this photo."

"Really?"

Jay nods. "They knew each other. Mom used to be a teacher when she was younger, and my birth mom was a student one year. Can you believe it?" Jay's smile is bittersweet as something sparkles in his eyes. "I expected them to talk about my dad—birth dad—but they talked about my mom first. I knew nothing about her."

Cole eyes Jay in the brief silence that follows, and he shakes himself off with a sigh.

"Anyway," Jay says, pointing, "Her name is Libber, and she could control lightning, too."

"She's got your freckles," Cole adds.

Jay laughs, a hand rising to ghost over his face. "Yeah, she does," he swallows, "and that's my dad, Cliff Gordon."

The name suddenly rings a bell as images of old movies and campy space films cloud Cole's thoughts. "Gordon? Is he that—"

"The one and only, yeah," says Jay, growing smug, "He's rich and famous."

Cole shakes his head in disbelief. "How—?"

"I know," Jay says, "I've got stardom in my genes. Probably explains why I'm so charming."

Despite recalling the troubling conversation of Lou, and how it connects to this revelation, Cole has to snort. "That's one word for it."

Jay nudges him with his elbow, annoyed but having a good time.

He lets the silence settle, and Cole remembers the conversation at the park. Jay spoke of a movie star. Was this too connected with _something bad?_ It must be. Jay must've known, somehow.

Cole stares at Jay, eyeing his profile while he smiles at the polaroid. It's a soft expression, cautiously genuine and the happiest thing Cole has seen on his friend in a while. He decides not to press it.

"Are they still around?" he asks instead.

Jay's face falls, and Cole wants to shove his foot into his mouth.

"Not her," Jay says, "but Cliff? Yeah."

Cole's heart thunders in his chest. "Do you plan on contacting him?"

Jay thinks for a long time, once again fiddling with the window. Up and down, up and down it goes. He says, "I don't know yet."

Cole cocks his head.

"I want to wait for him to contact me," says Jay. The melancholy expression appears again, but this time, it's subtle. "It just seems more polite for him to reach out to me first, wouldn't you say?"

He thinks about that, trying to put himself in Jay's position, then taking himself back out. He nods. "I suppose. But—"

Jay looks at him, and Cole feels queasy.

"—there's a chance he won't contact you. If he hasn't done so by now," Cole hates himself for saying this, but, "do you think he plans it?"

Jay continues staring at him, and Cole decides he's going to follow through with shoving his foot into his mouth. As soon as he gets out the car. He looks at the door and wonders if it'd be rude to run off now and save himself, and Jay, further embarrassment.

But Jay shrugs. "He might not," he says, "but I think I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

Jay nods. "Yeah. I've already got two good parents who love me to pieces. If Cliff doesn't ever want to see me again, how good of a person can he be?"

"Not much," Cole mutters, because even with Jay's unrivaled ability to annoy the pants off everyone he meets, he is a great person who deserves love and care. Cliff would be lucky to meet him.

"And if he does write me one day," Jay grins, "Who knows? Maybe I'll get a share of his inheritance and spend the rest of my life wealthy and surrounded by comic book memorabilia."

Cole laughs. "You only get inheritance if your parent dies, first. And that requires you're a part of his will in the first place."

Jay's smile is small and smug again, tucked at the corners in a self-satisfied smirk. "I'm pretty sure I'm a part of his will," he says, picking up the polaroid, "I mean, look how happy he is to see me."

Cliff does seem happy, his smile only outmatched by the radiance of Libber's. Together, they beam at Jay, who mirrors the expression. He is happy, Cole thinks. Better than he was.

"Well," Jay sighs, raising his arms into a stretch, "What do you say we get some breakfast? I'm starved."

"Sure," says Cole, realizing he's quite famished, himself. It's another feeling of many he's still getting used to. "Where to? Home or out?"

"I'd say let's sneak some from my parents," says Jay, rubbing at his chin in thought, "but knowing them, we won't get out of there until noon! Then they'll want us to stay for lunch. Let's go out. I know a roadside café about ten miles up that serves the best pancakes outside of the city. Truckers swear by it, as do I."

He puts a hand to his chest in a self-important pledge, and Cole laughs.

"Sounds good," he replies, turning the key. The engine comes to life with a sputter, and it takes some maneuvering to circle back to the road. He hopes Ed and Edna don't notice.

The drive is the most amiable one they've had in ages. Between Jay's mood and the feeling that an enormous weight has been lifted off their shoulders, the sun seems almost brighter in the sky, the air cleaner and cool.

It's no different, really, but Jay is better, and everything in turn seems alright in the world. He talks more than he has in weeks, over the radio and nonstop the entire way there.

"Which is better, waffles or pancakes?" Jay asks, "Pancakes are softer, but waffles hold your syrup."

"Guess it depends on what texture you prefer," Cole replies, smiling and unable to stop, "Personally, I like pancakes."

"Of course you would," says Jay, though it's hardly an insult, "I like waffles. You can't beat the crevices."

"But pancakes are stacked," says Cole. The thought of it makes his stomach start growling, surprising him and making Jay laugh.

"You sound like a bear."

"What can I say," says Cole, "I didn't eat last night."

"You could've joined us," says Jay.

"I'd be too nervous and eat everything."

"True," says Jay. He points at turn up ahead, and Cole follows the road into a lot containing a run-down motel and the supposed café, a building missing three of the four letters on its sign, leaving just 'f'.

"This is the place?" says Cole.

"It's more than what meets the eye, I promise," says Jay, popping open the door, "I pay today, okay?"

"Why?" says Cole, bending to get out of the car, which is still too small for someone his size.

In reply, and to Cole's surprise, Jay gives him a hug, having run from the other side. Well, walked casually in the time it took for Cole to work himself out of the car.

"For helping me, of course," says Jay, "It's a thank you. For being a friend."

"Yeah," says Cole, choked up again and ashamed of himself.

Jay is better, and he walks into the café smiling. That's good enough for Cole.

* * *

**As I said, this is slightly AU-ish. I've since rewatched season six.**

**Thank you so much for reading, following, and reviewing this story (I'm sorry for getting behind on replies. Your kind words have mean the world to me). I wish you the best, and thank you for giving this story the time of day!**


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